The Comeback
by theretheygoagain
Summary: She has given her life in the service of Santana: as a confidant, bestfriend, protector and lightning rod. Now, as she watches Santana mount the podium, she's both awed and wondering. Wondering what could have been, if only this great leader had been a better person.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

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**NOTE:**

**This won't be your typical Brittana love story. It can get ugly and dark; but of course, as with everything I write and will write, it's going to be a happy ending for them.**

**I'm not an expert on politics. There will be errors, since I'm not from the US and I don't have firsthand knowledge on how politics works in the said country. But I've researched and have been watching (and observing) how the US government works since I was in middle school. It's not much, but be assured that I'll try to be as factual as I could.**

**I apologize in advance for these errors.**

**On to the story...**

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**_/_**

**_USA Today:_**

_Like Father, Like Daughter: How Santana Lopez Does It_

_by: William Schouten_

_The crowd was roaring, TV commentators were gushing, and Robert Kerry himself thanked Santana Lopez for her nominating speech with a big hug as she left the stage in New York Wednesday night._

_Well Kerry ought to be grateful: In 34 minutes, the youngest child of the 45th president of the United States had stated the case for the 48th president's reelection in language that was crisper and more compelling than the case Kerry so far has made for himself._

_When Santana Marie Lopez mounted the podium last night at the Democratic Convention, there was first a rumble, and then came the roar and pretty soon, she just consumed the whole place. The crowd would not stop._

_They simply would not stop._

_Analysts officially tallied that the pandemonium lasted for fifteen minutes and eleven seconds._

_It didn't surprise me. It didn't surprise me that the crowd would not let her speak, would not let go of her._

_She was the representation of what they've lost._

_Some of the effective elements of Lopez's address were impossible to miss __—_ her ease on stage, the sheer theatricality of the performance _— it was like watching Edward Lopez speak to the people again_. But Lopez scored in New York for reasons that go beyond superficial style and reflect the essence of the Lopez political brand.

_The speech was a vivid illustration of why the Lopezes managed to survive the disasters in office __—__ the greatest of which was the plane crash that took the life of the well-loved Edward Martin Lopez, the nation's 45th president ____—_ and, even after over 22 years out of power ___—_ remains more effective than most politicians of the succeeding generation.

_There were several classic Lopez techniques on display in New York — political lessons to be borrowed by any politician with national aspirations ____— and masterfully delivered by what everybody touts as the keeper of the Lopez legacy, 27-year old lawyer Santana Lopez._

_Policy matters — more than your name. __People have long remarked that Lopez's gift is for human connection — for his supposed "feel-your-pain" empathy. Santana Lopez reminded everybody who watched last night's convention of her father's lasting gift._

_Lopez Wednesday avoided the kind of Oprah-style mood music that we all have seen from the candidates from both parties __—_ in favor a more potent skill — her ability to convey the concrete human dimensions of public policy. _One example was when she cited Republican proposals to turn Medicaid over to states as a block grant. Lopez emphasized how many elderly people in nursing homes are supported by the program. She also cited the travails of families with children suffering from autism, setbacks that could leave even affluent families reeling. We heard the sincerity in her familiar raspy voice._

_Repeatedly, Lopez made a barrage of facts and figures __— a classic Edward Lopez approach __—_ woven with historical context, sometimes in a highly argumentative way.

_Her emphasis on policy has the effect — and in large measure the reality — of seeming to treat voters as adults who must be reached by reason, rather than Hallmark-card sentimentality. Lopez __made the case tonight both on values and intellectually._

_The youngest Lopez clearly was having a blast in New York — smiling, clapping, claiming that Republicans were living in a different world, and spinning off cracker-barrel lines like one after the other. She__ took note of the contrast in her father's personal style with Kerry's._

_It was a full-throated, at times light-hearted, rousing endorsement of the man who was once her father's biggest Senate rival almost a quarter century ago. Lopez sauntered on stage to her father's campaign song while the convention hall clung to her like a cross-generational comfort blanket – thinking back about two decades ago, a reassuring reminder of what seems like a bygone era when jobs were many, and you had extra money on your account._

_Her appearance in a primetime slot usually reserved for vice-presidents says more about Kerry's vulnerabilities than it does about the known Lopez strengths. And those weaknesses have been clear during this convention. While there is far more enthusiasm in New York than there was among the other party last week, that exuberance among Democrats is far less focused. Republicans trained their sights on the economy and the future, deceptively at times but relentlessly throughout. The Democratic rhetorical fire, however, is dispersed among many targets. Women's rights, union rights, equality of opportunity, healthcare reform, gay marriage, student debt – all get shout outs, all get cheers. There is a theme __—_ fairness _—_ but there isn't a coherent message beyond the threat that under Miguel Cruz, the country will be less fair.

_This is where a Lopez comes in. For the problem is not that Robert Kerry does not have a record. It's that the record he has does not include the two most important achievements he could hope for: improving the lot of the broad swathe of middle America and leading the country, more so the youth towards a better future. It's the one area where voters trust Cruz more than him and by far the most important issue in the election._

_Edward Lopez bears the imprimatur of economic success and all those 'what-could-have-beens'. There's that memory of a strong economy, a budget surplus during his time and a younger generation that actively participated in the government's initiatives._

_There were rumors of internal conflicts within Democratic party prior to the convention. One group allegedly wanted a more experienced politician to address the crowd while the other, more liberal group wanted Santana Lopez to do the honors, seeing as the polls showed that it would be the youth who will decide the election. They needed someone who will make the case for the undecided voters and majority of the members of the party wanted Lopez to do the job._

_Indeed, Lopez was the person for the job. Immediately following the speech, the praise started pouring in. Jesse St. James led the pack on CNN. "I've been watching conventions for almost four decades now" he said. "And I say this with utmost respect for the late president Teddy Lopez, but this may have been the best speech I have ever heard a Lopez ever deliver over all these years."_

_GOP strategist and CNN pundit Adam Murphy said that Lopez's speech tilted the scale. "Tonight when everybody leaves, lock the door. You don't have to come back tomorrow. This convention is done. This will be the moment that probably re-elected Bobby Kerry," he said._

_Sue Sylvester commented on the unexpected specificity in Lopez's speech. "The level of detail in the speech was quite surprising. And yet there was a sense of personability," She noted. "I don't know anybody else that can be as substantive and yet as riveting."_

_Senator Brad Cooper, a former Teddy Lopez aide who watched the youngest Lopez grow up, made it clear that he thought Santana did what she was asked to do. "Santana Lopez came in and beat up the other side. She hit them hard where they were weak," he said. "I wouldn't want to be the guy fighting her if the issue is Robert Kerry. "She almost looks like her father doesn't she? Speaks like him too. The mannerisms are just uncanny. I genuinely believe that she's next in line."_

_Well, if these particular lines from a featurette on Santana Lopez in Harvard Gazette when she was running for the Student Council's presidency are any indication, we might be seeing the first female president, and the youngest one to boot: "She __conducts herself with immense charm, compassion and unwavering control. She has her own way of handling things and it always seemed to work for her. She's tough, loyal and driven. She's the perfect cross between Edward and Maribel Lopez. She knows what she wants and always come out on top. __She desires to be like her parents. She realizes that she's born to great privilege but never allowed herself to get carried away by the trappings of enormous wealth, power and popularity. She had certainly never traded on her looks too. She makes a concerted effort to make it on her own and she's succeeded so far, everytime. We believe that she would be the perfect leader to steer the student body to greater heights."_

_She's 27._

_Which leaves her supporters with eight more years before they could make those streamers._

* * *

Santana throws the papers she's been holding on the table and starts pacing around, a cigarette on hand.

"Santana—"

"I did what she told me to do, Fabray. I fucking stood there, guaranteeing to the public and the whole world that I believe in that daft prick when all I wanted to do was tell everybody that I hate him!" The young lawyer lights her cigarette, taking a few puffs to calm herself down. "And all for what? To freaking shut my mother up! And still, she's not at all impressed despite all those fucking praises from practically all those networks. Fuck, the freaking GOP assholes were shitting their pants halfway through that speech and still, not a single point from my mother!"

"You know Maribel, she's just—"

"Just what?"

"She's just naturally never impressed. With anything."

"Hmm." Santana scoffs bitterly.

"What's going on, Santana? What does she want this time?" Quinn asks her bestfriend, knowing full well that her bad temper often results from talking to the former first lady.

"She wants me to quote, 'quit fooling around and settle down' because my reputation as a female Lothario is bad for the family's quest of recapturing the presidency. She freaking knows why I crave _it._" Santana takes a deep breath, the cigarette not giving her the much needed calmness she desires. After she figured out in a car accident in college, Santana became addicted to painkillers—a fact that only three people knew: Santana, Quinn and Maribel. When she started to get clean, she had severe anxiety problems, which caused her hands to shake constantly, and made her restless. It was during that time when Santana started to bounce from woman to another, admitting that the only thing that helped was sex.

Quinn nods, unfazed by this bit of information. Maribel always thinks that of her five children, Santana, her youngest, especially has a place in history. Her older children are also achievers, with her two eldest sons elected to Congress and Senate respectively; but no one held the nation's interest as much as Santana does. That might be due to the fact that her youngest was born a few weeks after her husband was elected the 45th President of the United States. Maybe it was that day Santana, at eighteen months, closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at the press while their family was out for lunch. Still, it could be the fact that Santana was barely five years old when her husband died, and the nation saw her as a representation of what they've lost.

Being a daughter of a popular senator, Russell Fabray — who was himself Edward Lopez's closest aid and friend, Quinn Fabray grew up with Santana. After President Lopez's death, Maribel decided to move the family to New York, the Fabray's turf and hometown. Quinn and Santana both were raised in that special Upper East Side hothouse of private schools and privilege. Whenever they hung out, or walked through the park at night, Secret Service agents followed behind.

They both went to Harvard where they shared a house (still with the Secret Service lagging behind them). By that time, Santana was already out. Maribel surprisingly didn't bat an eyelash when her 17-year old daughter told her she was gay. Frankly, she didn't care. It was 2034 for Pete's sake. Besides, Maribel knew that Santana's smart and charismatic and that's all that mattered to her.

Santana wouldn't admit it, and Quinn would never bring it up—but they both know that despite Santana's ruthless and hardcore facade, she's terrified of Maribel. She didn't and she doesn't have the courage to stand up to her family, her mother especially, and declare her real interest—acting and performing.

Santana wanted to be an actress, or a singer, but she chose law school because she felt the tug of the family business. In a word, Santana has always been lost. That's why she throws herself to blood-tingling and dangerous cases and meaningless hookups and, just to feel the vitality of her own life. Quinn knows these things. She's seen it all firsthand.

"Well..." Quinn fidgets in her seat, trying to form her thoughts. "Maybe your mother has a point. If you're going to run, which I think is inevitable let's face it, you need to start cleaning up your act." The blonde lawyer sighs.

"I'm 27. My father didn't marry my mother until he was 35—"

"Well your father was already a established politician by then. He was a Senator at 30." Quinn answers with arched brow. "Look, all I'm saying is that, maybe you can _try. _You're not that child who blew kisses at the press anymore. You talk and everybody actually listens. The kids in middle school know the cases you're representing. The internet, magazines and tabloids abound with photos of _what you're wearing._"

"It sucks."

"It does. Listen Santana, I know it's hard for you. The pressure that comes with bearing your father's name is unenviable, trust me. But you've got a responsibility, at least towards those little girls who look up to you. I'm not saying you get married now. If you can't stop, then just be careful. I can't bail you out every single time, Santana. My favors with the press are starting to dwindle out."

"I don't know Quinn." Santana finishes her cigarette, throwing it in the ash tray.

"What do you want to do then, Santana?"

Santana's silent, her eyes glued back at the papers on top of the table. "I just want to make my parents proud." She breathes out to her friend and confidant, hoping that she would just tell her the answer but Quinn merely hangs her head.

/

Quinn's fears were realized a few weeks after Kerry's inauguration.

Santana opens the package and unfolded several layers of white paper covering its contents. Inside are a broken camera, drives, and photos of Santana and a blonde who one could easily recognize as the lead actress in one of the unpopular television shows that Quinn could not remember. The blonde is also the soon-to-be ex-wife of Los Angeles District Attorney, Warren Thomas.

"Quinn, I can explain—"

"Do you fucking know what I did to clean this mess up?!"

"It was a one-time thing—"

"I don't fucking care if it's a one-half-time thing or a fucking hundred-times thing! Do you honestly think people will believe anything you say once they see these photos? I ask you to be careful. That's all you've got to do while I work my ass off to secure your win in the gubernatorial race next year! Can you understand what's happening here, Santana?! We were working for this, eversince the age requirement for governors was amended last year and now? Fuck you!"

"Quinn—"

"Rupert Mane bought these pictures of you and this still-married bimbo. Thankfully, he's one of the guys that I've worked with before and I have a favor to collect from him so he didn't run a story on you. But for him to give me these..." Quinn throws the box away, the contents scattering all over the floor, "I had to agree to lend him my services to defend him in another libel case. Pro fucking bono!"

"I'm so—"

"Sorry! You're always sorry! But you never learn!" Quinn gets up from her seat and start pacing around the room. "For all your brilliance, you're so incredibly reckless and incredibly stupid!"

"It won't happen—"

"Oh please. Spare me your bullshit."

"I'm so sorry, Quinn." Santana mumbles weakly. "I'll try to be better. I'll try harder. You can't leave my side, Quinn. You're the only person I trust." She pleads. "It's just... this is harder than I thought it would be."

Quinn's shoulders slump hopelessly. She doesn't know how to tell her bestfriend that things are just starting, and that she's sure it's only going to get harder. The blonde leans against the door, thankful for her judgment to sound proof all the rooms in they're using. "Do you know why I'm by your side?"

"Sort of. But you tell me." Santana smiles sadly, and Quinn is reminded again of how charming her bestfriend could be.

"It's because I believe in you, Santana. I believe in your ideals. I believe that you can steer us to greater heights. I know you can do a great deal to advance our nation. And I want to be there, by your side, when you do it. I want to make a change too. I want to be a part of something bigger than I ever imagined. And you're my ticket to that dream. I feel like it's my calling. I feel like you're my worthy cause." Quinn admits, knowing that Santana would not get hurt by her speaking the truth. That's always been the nature of their relationship. They're each other's fact-checkers, each other's worst critic, and each other's staunchest defender.

"And you know that you can still believe in me, right?"

"Yes. But you have to understand, Santana, that everyday seems like a struggle with you. I struggle with the Santana I love and the woman I don't want to see. I'm mystified by the paradox that is _you. _How could a woman so intelligent, so compassionate, so public-spirited, and so conscious of her place in history act in such a stupid, selfish, and self-destructive manner?"

Santana merely nods and she sighs, getting Quinn's point. "I understand. I'll be better."

"We'll think of something." Quinn says as she moves to leave the room. "You know, Santana, for all the disappointments and days when I feel like defending you and cleaning up your mess feel like an exquisite jail sentence, working with you and for you is a great adventure of my life."

"Quinn—"

"Save it. I need a break. I'm heading to Cape for some time alone. Don't you dare contact me or ask me for anything."

"I hope you don't use your time thinking too much." Santana mutters, properly chastised.

"And I hope you use yours thinking about things, too much."

* * *

/

How many second chances does one person deserves? As many times as you fail, don't you deserve the chance to redeem yourself? Isn't history loaded with people who have fallen and gotten up and fallen and gotten up and done great things?

There's just something in Santana that's phenomenal. That abiding belief that if she could just have enough time, she can over just about anybody. The central, repetitive theme of Santana's life is loss and recovery. Never count her out, because always, she will find her way back. Where does that come from? That unwillingness to quit despite shame?

The thing is, she disappoints some everytime on some level, but she always gets up and tries to make it better. You know, at least for Quinn, what more can you ask from a sinner?

Critics would argue that Santana didn't really have to work a day in her life. That she wouldn't be where she is right now if she wasn't the daughter of a former president. So maybe she owes her popularity to her father's name, but no one will dare contradict the fact that she's a political natural, unlike anyone had seen in a generation.

But there has always been hushed whispers about her weaknesses and dark side. But Quinn knows that what makes Santana dangerous, also makes her a stellar leader. Swiveling her chair around her office, she starts thinking again. She knows that Santana will rely on her in the coming months and years, to make sure that she wins every single election she enters. For a second, she's tempted to grab her pen and write down, in bullet points, the takeaways from Santana's dark side; but she stopped herself. If there's one thing she learned from Santana, it's not to write down _anything _that could possibly incriminate you in the future.

So she relies on her sharp mind.

For one, Santana's a risk-taker. It's definitely her defining characteristic, as she loves to live on the edge. Her sexacapades and the countless affairs have been Quinn's source of fear, but as evil as some of her actions may have been, taking risks is important. To anyone looking to make a difference, risk is inevitable. One cannot crawl through life avoiding misfortune and danger. She just prays that Santana will be able to get out of each danger unharmed.

Most of Santana's allure stems from her good looks and charisma. Quinn can't forget that the same manner of communication she used in her affairs, she could use to seduce the nation. Her speaking is elegant. You can't _not _listen when she's talking.

Santana's sexual orientation has been their biggest concern when they were planning her future in politics. But Santana capitalized on her weakness, never showing any insecurity whenever attacked. Santana couldn't have controlled the searing aggression, but she controlled her reaction to it. She never addressed the issue, merely smiling knowingly and charmingly and the people took it upon themselves to defend her to the point that anybody who spoke ill and made fun of her sexuality was seen as bigot, and thus lose.

Her bestfriend is also criticized because of her wealth. But it's their best marketing device.

What would Santana need now? Quinn knows the answer, but she's still a little hesitant to make the move. The framed photo of her and Santana when they were three taken together with Edward Lopez catches Quinn's eye. Her gaze focuses on the photo, allowing the memories to come, only, they wouldn't. It's been too long since that photo was taken. Santana herself shamefully admitted to her that she doesn't remember much about her father, and if not for the pictures and videos of him, she'll forget what he looked like.

Her own father's the one who makes sure that they won't forget Edward Lopez and the ideals he stood for and the agenda he fought for.

Quinn takes another look at the picture and she knows she has to make the call. She takes a deep breath before pulling the receiver. After three rings, her call's answered.

"Hey Wilde. Yeah, I just got back from a short vacation. Hmm. Sure." She pauses as she waits for Kitty to finish her story. When it was her turn to speak again, she went straight for it. "Remember that conversation we had in Albany? Yeah, about that." She closes her eyes, trying to talk herself into finalizing another deal. "You said she wants to meet Santana right? That's great. Santana's intrigued too. Yeah, she has seen her once. Oh." Quinn starts massaging her temple. "No, that won't be a problem. Alright, how about you talk to her and tell her that Santana's hoping to talk to her. Give me her number and I'll be sure to forward it to Santana. Yes, she's been asking about her. Hold on a second." Quinn grabs her pen and jots down the number being dictated to her. "Alright. I'll call you again, Wilde. I just have a call to take. Yeah. You too. Have a good day, thanks."

Minutes pass by with Quinn holding on to the piece of paper, only with the beeping of her phone snapping her out of her trance. She doesn't need to look to see who sent the message.

She has work to do and she'll be damned if she fails.

/

"God, Fabray, you made a dossier?"

"What do you take me for? I am the most effective bitch you would ever meet in any of your lifetimes."

Santana just rolls her eyes at her bestfriend. "How about you give me the gist. I don't have the time. That Baines case is a bitch."

"Hmm." Quinn gulps her iced tea. "When's the first hearing?"

"In three weeks. Thank goodness this is my last before we officially hit the campaign trail."

"Fair enough." Quinn breathes out as she grabs the dossier from Santana. "Alright, name's Brittany Susan Pierce. Her father's a businessman and mother's a kindergarten teacher. Middle class. Democrats. Brittany opened up a small dance studio in Manhattan with two of her friends, one man named Mike Chang and a woman named Anna Miles. She graduated from Julliard. The studio teaches dance for free on Saturdays, for kids who have no money to pay for the lessons."

"So she's nice."

"Nice and kind. Very personable too. Loves kids, pretty child-like."

"That's cool. Have you talked to her?"

"Hmm. Not really. But Wilde vouches that she's smart. Got into MIT, but left because she wanted to pursue dance."

"Does she at least speak a little Spanish?"

"A little."

"Quinn, she needs to at least be able to deliver about five sentences in Spanish. Just like JBK did in Texas in '63." Santana frowns.

"I can arrange for Boyd to teach her. Really, that's not a problem."

"She may be asked to sit down for some interviews—"

"Okay, hold up. We're not there yet. You're still in the 'Lopez-Pierce a-courting' phase or whatever the press will call it. I'll handle it. I'll make sure she won't be asked about domestic policy or all those political bullshit. You just need to be seen with her for a considerable amount of time."

"And by considerable amount of time you mean how long exactly?"

"If I have my way, forever. But knowing you, she'll probably leave you after the elections."

"God, could you be bitchier?"

"Whatever. Look, here's everything you need to know about her. This includes her favorite everything, down to her—"

"I don't need a dossier for me to know what I need to know about her. I'll learn about everything, my way." Santana smirks. "Where's the picture?" Santana waits for Quinn to produce the photo and when she does, Santana couldn't help but wolf whistle. "Wow."

"Santana, listen. She seems like a nice girl. So please." Quinn begs, hoping that Santana can see how serious she is.

"I'm trying to be better. I hope you believe that."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Lopez."

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**Okay, so I'm cutting it here.**

**I'm working on the sixth chapter of 'It's Always Been You' and it should be posted in a day or two :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

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"Oh my god, Brit..." Anna, one of Brittany's business partners, looks on with her mouth agape and her eyes wide in shock. She watches as their dance studio starts to get filled with different kinds of flowers that one could possibly think of. Anna shifts her gaze to her friend and business partner, and she can't help but shake her head at the dazed look that's adorning Brittany face. She moves to read the small piece of paper that Brittany is so engrossed at reading and as soon as she sees the name—_that _name—Anna realizes why that dopey grin on the blonde's mouth made another appearance.

Anna remembers the first time she saw that same look of awe and adoration in Brittany's eyes.

It was three years ago.

Anna was a sophomore dance student at Joffrey Ballet School in New York and together with her friend and favorite dance partner, Mike Chang, they were chosen to represent the school along with some other participants from different colleges and universities in a fundraising event for the year's _CoolNY Dance Festival. _Brittany herself was one of Juilliard's representatives, which made everything easier since Brittany had been her friend for a long while after Mike introduced the two of them during their first weeks in New York. From then on, the three of them were inseparable despite Brittany going to a different school.

It was during that fundraising event that Anna and Mike realized that Brittany's _'cool' _crush on the then senior law student wasn't just a simple one that would go away after a short while. They watched bemusedly as their friend tried her best to get to Santana Lopez after their performance, only to find the object of her affection entering her chauffeured car to leave the venue.

Not that they could blame their besotted friend, really.

The young Lopez has been famous even before anybody actually saw her. Born a few weeks after her father was elected the most powerful man in the world, everybody waited with baited breath and excitement to catch a glimpse of the youngest member of the first family.

Santana didn't disappoint. Over the years, she captured the nation's heart with her beautiful face, naughtiness (that photo of the then two-year old Santana strangling Governor George Plantain during a White House Halloween party turned the nation into a frenzy) and natural charm.

"Oh my god..." Brittany mutters under her breath, snapping Anna out of her musings.

"She asked you out?" Anna asks despite reading the note herself. Not that Brittany noticed.

"Hmm." Brittany merely nods, her eyes still not leaving the card. "She remembered me?"

"I think so?" Anna chuckles at the confused look in her friend's face. "She personally thanked us after the show. Even made some small talk." She reminds Brittany. "Not that you were listening." She adds teasingly. Apparently, one of the members of Santana's staff is friends with the organizers; one of them's a friend of Mike's. Or something like that.

Just a few months ago, they received an invitation for their students to perform to another fundraising, this time, to raise more money for the Edward M. Lopez Presidential Library and Museum. By now, Santana Lopez is a celebrity of her own. She's a charming lawyer who handled cases that on paper would have no chances of winning; but in end, the results have always been favorable. From then on, Santana's whereabouts have been the talk of the town and considering her family background, countless magazines and tabloids have her face on their covers, wanting to get her to sit down for interviews. Here is a young, glamorous, smart and great-looking woman from a prominent, aristocratic family— who is out and proud—and the press is sure to continue to eat her up. Santana is just poised for something greater, something higher. A higher office.

And everyone knew it. The feeling from most of the people watching her is that her years towards the governorship, and more so, the presidency, are almost inevitable. There's always that feeling among the press and among her colleagues that one day, they would have to deal with her on quite a different level.

And then there's her dating life. The young lawyer had dated (and continues to date) some of the world's most beautiful women. Her dalliances with famous gay and bisexual actresses, models and athletes almost always overshadow her courtroom brilliance; but this doesn't deter the press from making insinuations that she'll one day be catapulted to the highest office of the land.

Which brings Anna and Mike to have second thoughts on this... whatever _this _is.

They adore Brittany. For them, she's probably the kindest and most loving person they've ever known and well...

They're not exactly equals. Though Brittany grew up comfortably, the Pierces are not someone one will classify as elite. Brittany's father is the son of a railroad foreman and Santana's father was... well, you know. Also, it's sort of an open secret that Santana is fidelity-challenged — shades of you know who (Edward Lopez was known to be a very promiscuous man). And really, when it's like that, it doesn't matter how kind, funny, loving and gorgeous someone is.

"Should I call her? She left me her number..." Brittany asks, insecurity and giddiness lacing her voice.

"I—I don't know." Anna answers honestly. She' torn. She knows firsthand how much Brittany wanted _this _and she doesn't want to be that kind of friend who'll prevent someone as kind as Brittany from being happy. But at the same time, she's wary. And a little scared. She doesn't know Santana, save for the one that's painted by the media. What if Brittany gets hurt?

Before she could think further though, Brittany's scurrying to her little office, probably to grab her phone and call Santana.

/

"Did she like the flowers? I had Matt order basically everything on the shop because I have no idea what she likes. And I've already made reservations at Le Bernardin because Kitty's source said that Brittany loves seafoods." Quinn states as she narrows her eyes at the file she's reading. "Also, I've asked Sebastian to give you some breathing room and he agreed that he won't be pursuing any story about your new lady. He also encouraged a couple of his friends in the media not to cover anything about you at least until the end of the month. So you're safe."

"Thanks, Q." Santana mumbles absentmindedly as she smiles at her phone.

"Santana, I—"

"Q, on second thought, can you cancel that reservation?" Santana requests, still not looking away from her phone.

"What?"

"I'm talking to Brittany and it seems like she doesn't want fancy things and stuff. She wants something casual and simple." The young lawyer shrugs. "Which is great because that's a break from all those fancy dates you organized. So just leave it to me. I'll handle this." Santana says smugly.

"Are you sure? You know you still have to tell me the details, right? For your security." Quinn says, her eyebrows raised. "Especially with the elections coming up."

"Quinn." Santana finally looks up from her phone. "No security please."

"But—"

"Please?" Santana looks at her bestfriend pleadingly. The youngest Lopez always despises the security measures that have been set in place for her eversince she can remember. The men in suits have been a constant reminder that she's not really someone normal; that she's unlike many other girls out there.

She's a child of Edward Lopez. That is her privilege. And that is her burden.

"There are no real threats, Quinn. Please. Just give me this night."

"You don't know that, San."

"They're all talk. Trust me, they won't do anything to me. They sure want to," she chuckles, "but they won't do it. It's 2044. They're using other ways to kill me. And it's not through a bullet or anything of that kind." Santana mutters bitterly, alluding to the fact that countless attempts to kill her are being carried through the media.

"I don't know, Santana. I'm still not convinced that you should go out without the team at least being in the area with you."

"How about this." Santana sighs exasperatedly. "They can check. Heck, they can be there. But she can't see them."

"Like civilian guards?"

"Sure. I don't really care what they do or wear. I just want them to be invisibly there."

"I'll see if they can do that." Quinn shakes her head, still mortified at the idea of her bestfriend going out without any backup. To anyone else, it's just a matter of Quinn Fabray doing her job, both as Santana's most trusted confidant and adviser and as her bestfriend. What most people don't know is that it's more than that. It's something that has been passed on to her by her father. Russell Fabray himself was Edward's bestfriend and he took it hard when he died, going as far as blaming himself for not making sure that the plane carrying his bestfriend was at the best condition, despite it not being his job. Russell struggled with Edward's death. He became clinically depressed for months, until Maribel took him aside and personally asked if he could take on the role as her and Edward's children's surrogate father. It was after that talk that he started to pick himself up and be the kids' father figure.

Quinn, on the other hand, grew up with the unspoken mandate from her father that she'll be there for Santana in the same capacity that her father had been there for Edward Lopez. She's not just a friend. She's Santana's sister _and _protector.

Quinn knows that if something happens to Santana, she will not only fail the Lopezes, but more so, her father. Quinn's so caught up with the trappings of her personal and political predicament that she jerks when her phone vibrates on her desk just a few seconds later. She looks at the device and frowns when Santana's name flashes up on her screen.

_I promise I will be fine._

Quinn snorts, yet she can't help but smile at Santana's antics. They do fight a lot. Quinn would even go as far as saying that Santana pisses her off more than half the time. But Santana's her bestfriend and they love each other like sisters, even if they have funny ways of showing it. At the end of the day, they understand each other better than the other understands herself.

"I swear Santana, if something—"

"If I die, I'm giving you the permission to kill me." Santana smirks. "God, Fabray, everything's going to be fine. Chill."

"What are you up to this time, Lopez?" Quinn asks more to herself than to Santana. "Are you planning on fucking her on the first date and you don't want the guards to be there to bother you? Because you screwed a lot of women with them standing outside the room while you finish your _thing._"

"Whatever Q." Santana merely snorts before focusing her attention back to her phone, something that doesn't go unnoticed by one Quinn Fabray.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Quinn raises her brow before crossing her arms on her chest and moving towards Santana. "You're texting her. Something you very rarely do. And you're planning your 'date'. Something you never do."

"Well, she sent me this." Santana grins, holding out her phone for Quinn to see. For her part, Quinn looks nervous. Knowing Santana, it could very well be something vulgar. Like a photo of something, or rather someone, naked. Santana seems to sense the hesitation, so she chuckles. "It's not bad! I swear!"

Still with narrowed eyes, Quinn holds out her hand, her fingers wiggling. Santana looks excited, not naughty. Which means it's something safe. Or so she hopes. "Fine. Let me see."

Santana slides her phone into Quinn's hand as she allows herself to wait for the latter's reaction.

"Looks so cute, right?" Santana chuckles as Brittany's grin and bright blue eyes greet her. The woman is wearing a white shirt with a unicorn printed right at its center. She's holding a piece of cupcake with a cute message flag where the words _'See You' _are written.

"Yeah. I passed by the cafe this morning and saw these cupcakes—"

"I'm talking about her, silly."

"Oh." Quinn chuckles at the slight misunderstanding. "Yeah. I've seen her personally. She's really pretty San. Seems nice too."

/

* * *

Santana pulls up her sleek black Mercedes-Benz W211 outside the apartment complex that Brittany texted her the night before. She's wearing her favorite skinny jeans (because it flatters her behind, as per her friends), long-sleeved striped tee and knee-high black boots. She watches from the mirror to check on her make-up before pulling the baseball cap beside her and wearing it. With one final look in the mirror, she exits her car and makes her way towards the entrance of the building.

Brittany's walking out of the building when she sees Santana steps out of her car. Her breath hitches in her throat as she takes in the sight of her date. Santana, even with the baseball cap obscuring a big deal of her gorgeous face, looks like every fantasy she ever had when she first decided to chance her luck out in New York. Santana, in all her 'casual' wear (something that they have agreed on the night before) is perfect picture and Brittany pauses for a moment to save the image as a memory.

"Hi," Santana greets, smiling brightly at Brittany as she reaches the dancer. Santana herself mentally checks Britt out. The dancer is wearing a skinny jeans too with a cream jacket over her black tank top. The flats she's wearing allows Santana to be about her height, something that Brittany's thankful for because it makes looking into those eyes easier. "Are you ready?"

"Hey..." Brittany breathes out, the butterflies that she's been trying to contain are now doing somersaults in her stomach as Santana smiles, showing her dimples. "Y-Yeah."

"You look beautiful." Santana beams, holding out her hand for the dancer to take. Her friends warned Brittany that Santana is a known charming player, and she prepared for this. Only, now that she's here, in front of the woman she's been crushing on since she was in college, she realizes that she's not immune to the Lopez charm. At least not yet.

Brittany blushes as she takes Santana's outstretched hand. They walk a few steps before reaching the lawyer's car. Brittany blushes even more when Santana bows low as she slides herself into the lawyer's car. Santana's possibly the cutest, yet hottest dork she has ever had the pleasure of meeting. She waits for Santana to slide next to her and when she does, they exchange soft smiles.

"This is a nice car."

"You're nicer."

"Oh stop it..."

"I really mean it though," Santana insists, "You look nice." Santana winks before starting the car to venture out to wherever she's taking Brittany.

"Where are we going?"

Santana smiles, but she doesn't answer. She looks at Brittany and shrugs, her eyes only focusing on her companion for a second before she steels her attention back on the road. "Somewhere that's not fancy, as per your request, M'lady."

**/**

They end up at a bench in Central Park about half an hour later. Santana ordered burgers and fries from one of the stands in the park before they both settled at a secluded bench. Santanatakes a second to breathe and then she turns to Brittany, "Here, let me put this on your back." Santana carefully places the small throw pillow (something that confused Brittany while they exited Santana's car earlier) on Brittany's back so she's comfortable.

"You didn't have to." Brittany says shyly. "But thank you anyway."

"I want you to be comfortable." Santana offers with a gentle smile. "So..." Santana starts again, pushing her back on the bench and allowing her legs to spread in front of her. "Tell me something about you, Miss Pierce."

"Well..." Brittany mumbles, chewing on her burger before looking at Santana. She smiles as she realizes that the lawyer has removed her cap, so nothing is getting in the way of Brittany fully appreciating the beauty in front of her. "I had a pet ferret when I was younger, but Lord Tubbington got jealous and he led him to an abandoned warehouse one night when we were all sleeping. We never saw my ferret again."

"Who's Lord Tubbington?"

"My cat." Santana looks at Brittany in amusement, appreciating her sense of humor. She's a breath of fresh air from all of the women she dated or went out with. There's this childlike quality about her, something that Santana yearns to experience.

In the next hour, they just chat away as they consume their burgers and fries. It's during that simple, personal chat with Santana that Brittany realizes that what people say about Santana is true. The youngest Lopez is famous for the charisma she exudes. There are countless stories of complete strangers (and even people who despise the fiery lawyer) leaving a first encounter with her feeling like they've known Santana for years.

Santana makes it a point to maintain eye contact with Brittany, appearing present and very much interested.

As the minutes continue to pass, Brittany feels that her friends have been right.

She also realizes that she'll be in so much trouble

/

"Want to know some secret?" Santana eventually asks moments later, receiving a delighted expression from Brittany.

"Of course!"

"This," Santana mumbles, tossing her hand out in front of her, "is my favorite place in the whole world." She whispers, not looking at Brittany who she feels is gazing at her questioningly.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Why?"

"Mom is really from here. She was born in Southampton, but their family moved in Manhattan when she was a little girl. Whenever Dad's free, we flew here from Washington and they'll bring us in this park. It was my happiest childhood memory." Santana admits, unsure of why she's telling Brittany about that tidbit of her life.

There's silence once again as Brittany takes tanned hands in hers, her presence calming Santana. She looks back and meets blue eyes and Santana can't help but smile again.

"I do still want to know _some_ more stuff about you though," Santana tells her.

"Some more stuff?"

"Sure."

"Like what? I basically told you all there is to know about me." Brittany pouts as she thinks long and hard about what she could still tell Santana.

"No you didn't." Santana smirks. "What's your favorite cereal?" She prods, earning an eye roll from Brittany who wouldn't voice out that what they're doing is fun and Brittany likes it.

They both shift their positions so that Brittany's legs are now on Santana's lap. How it got there, Brittany could not exactly fathom. Maybe Santana grabbed them? Or maybe Brittany unconsciously draped them on Santana's lap. They're not sure. And neither do they care.

Santana continues to ask questions. They're not heavy, nor serious. probably because she doesn't want to dare to disturb the ease the two of them are feeling at the moment. In a few more minutes, Santana's privy to Brittany's favorite colors as well as her choice of ice cream flavor. She also managed to have Brittany admit who her least favorite dance student is as well as her opinion on the controversial case that Santana has just won.

/

"Wait, are you saying that if you're Governor, you'll support the death penalty?" Brittany asks, suddenly finding something that she doesn't like about Santana.

"I might. I'm still weighing the pros and cons." Santana answers without batting an eyelash.

"Why?" Brittany asks, her eyes wide in mortification. How could someone think about killing someone?

"I know what you're thinking. Prison is already hell on earth. It's murder because it's not killing in defense of life—"

"Exactly. I think it's hypocritical."

"I get that. But I've met with the families of murdered victims, Brittany. I've talked to mothers and daughters of those people who were killed. If I ever arrive at the final decision to support it, it's not to seek revenge. Now that's wrong. If I support it, it is with the belief that if administered justly, it is deterrent against future violence. I believe it will save other innocent lives." Santana defends, impassioned.

"Well, I think we would just have to agree to disagree on that one." Brittany says evenly.

/

"I agree." Santana breathes out.

"You'll think about it though, right?"

"Of course I will, Brittany. You can be sure that my decision is based on careful research and discernment."

"Okay."

"All better?" Santana asks.

"All better," Brittany confirms. She watches as Santanareaches across and bops the end of her nose with her fingertip and Brittany swears she looks as completely adorable. "Awesome,"

/

Save for that disagreement, everything else about the night had been awesome. The night still made Brittany in awe of the young lawyer. Once they finished their food, they both decided to take a walk around the park; Brittany holding on to the small pillow.

"Brittany," Santana mutters, interrupting Brittany's thoughts.

"Yeah?"

Santana leans forward and holds on to Brittany's hand, clasping it while they continue to walk. "Thank you for coming with me tonight," Santana whispers.

"Thank you for inviting me." Brittany answers sincerely.

"Anytime. Wait, what do you say about riding a bicycle?" Santana watches for Brittany's reaction, frowning a little when Brittany looks down shyly. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to ride one." Brittany answers timidly.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite hear you."

"I don't know how."

"You don't?" Santana asks in surprise.

"Nope."

"Do you want me to teach you?"

"You will?"

"Baby, you're looking at the best bicycle rider there is in Manhattan." Santana teases, earning a slight shove from a pouting blonde.

/

"I don't get it." Santana whines after Brittany falls out of her bike for the seventh time. "You told me you rollerskate. But you don't know how to ride a bike?"

"I'm a dancer."

"And I'm a piano player."

"That doesn't even make sense."

/

Moments later, Brittany closes her eyes as she feels Santana move closer. She feels the softest lips press against the side of her cheek; like it's there but it's not really there and it's gone before she can taste it.

When she opens her eyes, Santana's staring right back at her.

"Come on," Santana says, her hand reaching out to gently hold Brittany, "I think it's time I take you home."

/

The ride back to Brittany's apartment is filled with a lot of laughter, teasing and stolen looks. By the time Santana actually pulls up outside the dancer's apartment, Brittany's pout is on.

"I don't want to go in yet." Brittany mumbles, hoping to stop the time.

Santana sighs soft in agreement and Brittany sees her eyes flick across to check the time. "It's kinda late. You have classes to teach tomorrow, yeah?"

"How'd you know that?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out."

Brittany pouts again, knowing it's time to get out of the car, to say goodbye and bid farewell to the wonderful woman beside her.

"You want to come up for a while? Have a cup of coffee before you go home?" Brittany asks insecurely.

"I'd love to. But I..." Santana trails on, a sheepish smile adorning her face.

"Just come up, silly." Brittany bites her bottom lip in anticipation. Her eyes shine when Santana removes her seat belt and turns to get out of the car. She waits in silence, grabbing Santana's hand as soon as she's within reach, and together the two of them comfortably walk inside the apartment building.

/

"B-Brittany," Santana mutters under her breath as Brittany backs her up against the door. "We—hmph—"

Santana's words are cut of as Brittany kisses her savagely, all bruised lips and tongue and teeth.

"Brit—," Santana warns as Brittany brings her hands to rest on her upper thigh, her eyes glistening with want, her tongue darting from her mouth as she wet her lips. Unable to stop herself anymore, Santana's fingers found the thin material under Brittany's her jean. Brittany bites back a moan, her mind blanking out as Santana's hand teases the material and her other hand brings Brittany to another searing kiss.

Santana plays with Brittany's hair as they kiss. Santana swallows the very loud moan that escapes Brittany's mouth as Santana—who has gotten Brittany's pants open without the blonde knowing—slips two fingers into the jeans, feeling the wetness through the fabric of Brittany's underwear. Santana gives Brittany time to think, to stop her ministrations.

"Please..." Brittany looks into brown orbs, voicing out her plea. Brittany moans as her knees give out, Santana swiftly moves to push Brittany towards the nearest couch. Only, they didn't completely make it.

As soon as Brittany's lower back hits the back of the couch, Santana starts to trail kisses behind Brittany's ear and makes her way down pale neck, one hand tangled in blonde hair while the other palms a breast; all while rocking her hips gently against Brittany.

"Please, Santana..." Brittanyopens her legs wider, giving Santana more access, as she brings her hands around Santana's face, bringing her deeper into the kiss as she moans. Her moans grow louder as she feels Santana's fingers inside her, moving forcibly inside her. "Oh fuck!" Brittany's body trembles after three pumps, her walls clenching on Santana's digits. Herclimax is swift and it tears through Brittany with such force.

As soon as Brittany calms from her spasms, Santana quickly moves towards to sit on the couch, pulling Brittany to sit on her lap—stepping on Brittany's pants, discarding them on the floor before pulling off Brittany's underwear—without removing her hand from inside the blonde. Brittany gasps at the movement, and tried not to squirm too much as she removes her remaining pieces of clothing. Her skin is already too sensitive.

Her body moves to establish her position as she rides Santana, her breasts right in front of the lawyer's face. Santana smiles, as she sucks on Brittany's breast, her right hand wraps around Brittany's lower back, pushing her further into her hand; rocking Brittany there until she begins to breath raggedly. Brittany hunches over as she grinds her hips into a tanned hand; harder and faster, as she starts to feel the burning at the pit of her stomach.

Brittany needs Santana's hands all over her.

Brittany needs Santana.

Her forehead is on Santana's, her body hunching away from the brunette, only to have themselves connect again in their lower areas. Santana moves her own hips, digging her fingers farther inside Brittany, eliciting a high pitched gasp. She moans in ecstasy and claws at Santana's hair. She scratches at Santana's shirt, groaning as she wishes it's her skin instead.

Capturing their mouths together, Santana sees Brittany burning brighter and immediately knew that the dancer's about to climax again. Bringing up her thumb, she rubs Brittany's sex as she moves her mouth from Brittany's face down to her neck, then her chest, down to her stomach, stopping when her lips reaches the blonde's sex.

Santana's legs start to tremble at the weight. With a disbelieving gasp, she watches as Brittany, with all the flexibility she could muster, slowly slides her upper body down the carpeted floor before pushing herself up in her arms. By now, her hips are on Santana's lap, her legs curling at the shorter woman's sides, her sex right in front of Santana's face.

"S-San..." Brittany breathes out as she watches Santana blanks out for a second before going back to the task, her hand working inside Brittany's pussy furiously, the tip of her tongue licking Brittany's hardened clit. "Ohhh fuck!" Brittany moans as she feels herself come undone.

Santana still works Brittany up, lapping her juices as her fingers continue to pump her pussy. "Come on, baby... I know you have another one in you!"**  
**

"Hnnngg, fucking fuck!" Brittany curses as she feels herself clench around Santana's digits again. Without any warning, Santana picks up her pace, ramming her fingers into Brittany so hard and fast that Brittany couldn't help but scream in ecstasy. "Fuuuuccck!"

Santana roughly yanks Brittany up, sitting her on her lap so she's riding her digits. She feels Brittany bite into her shoulder, as another moan escapes her, followed by another orgasm.

Then another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

* * *

"If you want to bring this state down, then go ahead!" That low voice reverberates across the room. "Fuck you! If that's what you want, you go do it! Just know that I will never, _ever, _forget this!" As Quinn Fabray hangs up the receiver, she isn't red at all, and her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, almost shell-shocked. "It's going to be a no," is all she says. "I need you to do extremely well at the party fund-raising tonight. We already lost the Astors, we can't afford to be weak tonight."

Santana merely narrows her eyes at her best friend and campaign manager while she stays sprawled on the couch, eating her take-out chicken. Quinn had always been overly worried, but that's not something that Santana will complain about. To make sure that her gubernatorial campaign succeeds, the blonde lawyer took it upon herself to run interference—the person who does most of the dirty deeds; all the hard stuff like telling people off, telling them to go away, even saying 'no'. That allows Santana to focus on looking good.

"Q, chill. It's not like we need the money. Heck, I can afford to mount a campaign independently." Santana chuckles.

"Your arrogance never fails to amaze me." Quinn mumbles as she rummages through her files. "We are not _just _after the money, Santana. You need all the support and endorsements you can get. Have you seen Lauren's recent job?" She asks, eyebrows raised.

Santana's face darkens at the remembrance of that information. Lauren Zizes, their most trusted pollster (and the best in the field), came up to them two days ago to inform them that Santana's lagging by a full 20% behind the Republican presumptive gubernatorial nominee, and New York City's celebrated politician Brian Curtis. Curtis started out as an NYC firefighter, and had risked his life a number of times to save others. He slowly climbed the ladder of political success after he was appointed by the then NYC mayor Stanley Bloom as his Deputy Mayor for Operations—assisting Bloom in managing the Police, Fire, and Sanitation departments together with the Office of Emergency Management and the Office of Management and Budget. He was elected mayor of NYC after Bloom's term before he was sworn in as the Lieutenant Governor of New York eight years ago. Now, he's poised to be the gubernatorial nominee of his party.

The race would be very interesting, to say the least.

"We'll close that gap, Quinn."

"That's why we can't afford to lose more supporters. You need to get the people tonight to be on your side."

"Fine. What _should _I do tonight?" Santana relents. Quinn is a great strategist, the best damn person you'd want to be on your side in battles like these.

"The trick to speaking at party fundraisers is to treat them like dinner theater. People are there to have fun and feel good. So no heavy lifting. And tone down the sarcasm, Santana. The post meal speech has to be easy and light, with just the right amount of inspiration to make people feel that they being there is kind of a civic duty."

Santana keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling, contemplating Quinn's advice. "I can do that." She nods after a moment of silence, convinced of her own ability to rally the people on her side.

"I know." Quinn says solemnly. She knows that it won't be an easy battle. But Santana is a great product to sell, and she'll be damned if she won't make sure to use every selling point to win. Losing this election is just not an option. Not for Santana, and certainly not for Quinn.

"What's the word on Berry?" Santana asks, genuinely curious.

Only one other Democrat could still stir the party faithful in the same way as Santana Lopez does. That person is Rachel Berry, New York City's mayor who shot to fame as a successful Broadway star before she heeded the call of one of her fathers to public service. LeRoy Berry had been New York City's mayor for two consecutive terms until he suffered a stroke, preventing him from running for another office.

Rachel Berry, New York's most popular mayor with an approval rating of 62%, remains to be the cloud over team Lopez' heads as the year draws to a close. No matter what they say or do, the campaign wouldn't feel entirely real until the eternally ambivalent front-runner finally declares her real intention. In true Rachel Berry fashion, nobody knows what she'll do next. She's teasing the press, the party establishment and her potential opponents (at this point, just Santana) and the longer she takes to make up her mind, the more frustrated Santana's team got.

Reporters are dying for Berry to jump in, for the only reason that they want to pit the two political children. It's an open secret that they don't exactly adore each other. Berry had been an ardent critic of how Santana never really had to work a day in her life; how future political offices would surely just be handed to her without her working for it. Santana charmingly laughs it off publicly, making sure to remind everybody, without using so much words, that Rachel wouldn't be in her current position had she not been LeRoy Berry's daughter.

The playful banters and subtle digs though? Yeah, Rachel doesn't like it one bit.

But now, Santana's team is getting anxious. It seems as if everytime the mayor of NYC scratches her nose, she receives more fawning coverage than any successful Broadway show she starred in. If Rachel Berry gives even the slightest hint that she will run, the media will eat the story up because a Lopez vs Berry fight for the Democratic nomination will send not only the state, but the whole country in frenzy.

And Santana Lopez? Well, she's more than ready to engage.

A lot of times, Quinn resisted the team's efforts to draw clear lines with Rachel Berry. But the Lopez camp got an opening when Rachel took the hardest shot against Santana to date: with the mayor criticizing Santana's plan on welfare and state service. Quinn, with the help of Santana's media adviser Holly Holliday, scratched out a statement which Santana edited as she stood over Holly. Despite writing the sketch of the statement herself, Quinn had doubts about what they were about to do.

_"Candidates don't debate non-candidates, Santana", Quinn quipped, as she bit the tip of her pen._

_"Sure, Quinn. But we have to hit back." Holly defended._

_"Yeah, but by attacking Santana's issues, Berry is already helping define Santana as the un-Berry, a Democrat who's not afraid to challenge party orthodoxy. An attack from Berry is already signalling that we matter." Quinn answered._

_"But we have to hit back. We already agreed that we will never keep mum on any attack." Holly reminded the younger women with her._

_Santana saw this as her chance to stop the argument from escalating further. "Alright, how about this. Holly, get 'The New York Times' to write a small story that would include a quote from Quinn defending my ideas and challenging Mayor Berry to_—_quote, 'let the debate begin'. That way we're sending the signal to the political world that 'if you hit Lopez, she hits back' without directly attacking Berry back."_

_"That is a more superior idea. That way we won't look a bunch of idiots the moment Berry announces that she's not running." Quinn agreed._

_"Holly?" Santana directed her gaze at her mentor and media adviser._

_"Fine. I'll get Tom to write it."_

But Rachel had been telling people that she couldn't decide about entering the race until she finished work on her budget.

"Berry's not running. I got a call from Jesse a few minutes before you came in. CNN's been keeping track of her too. And you know St. James. He wants to be the first one to break the news should the troll decide to run." Quinn answers as she looks at her best friend who seems unfazed by the news. Yet Quinn knows with the way Santana's toying with her hair that she's already making the calculations in her head.

"Damn. It would have been so great if she came in. I'd rip her head off." Santana smiles, but the thought doesn't linger. Rachel's decision would free up a lot of NYC money, so she knows that her team would be working harder to hit the phones.

"You really didn't want her to run, did you?" Quinn smirks.

"Are you kidding me?" Santana glances at Quinn, and for a moment, they share a look before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"It would have been fun. Anyway, how's your economic plan going?"

"Perfectly. I would need to present it to you guys. Then you can fire back questions." Santana shrugs, very confident with her plan. "What else are we missing?"

"Well..." Quinn leans back against her chair once again, maneuvering it backwards so she could prop her tired feet on her desk. "Holly came to my apartment to inform me about a story about you and this woman named Vicky." The blonde lawyer says, her voice flat. As her eyes find Santana, she knows that her best friend's mind is trying to remember the woman. It takes a few seconds for Santana's face to betray a sense of recognition.

Vicky Gordon is a Manhattan groupie who is infamous in the music scene for her lusty backstage adventures. But a few days ago, she was claiming that her favors had also been bestowed upon a famous Manhattan lawyer and a daughter of a deceased president.

"That was two years ago, Q." Santana sighs, sounding so defeated.

"I know." Quinn nods. "The story broke before dawn this morning on CNN _Headline News, _barely into my first cup of coffee, by the way. Holly called the network's center in Atlanta. It took her a while to find the person responsible."

"I take it Holly went on the defensive?"

"She crushed the story. Holly started screaming about how they can't run something like that without proof."

Santana knows that stopping CNN is the key. They both know it, Holly especially. If the network ran the story all day, no matter how brief, other news organizations could cite them to justify running their own stories. The team's denials would be folded into accounts, but the damage would have been done. All of the trashy images would be out there and they might stick. It's one thing to have rumors about Santana getting around and it's another thing to actually have this tryst with a slutty groupie come to life. If Santana smoking at the balcony of her 1040 Fifth Avenue apartment merited four stories in the _Post, _who knew what this could get?

"Did other reporters call?"

"About seven. By then, Holly and I were already here in the headquarters, and we were refusing to comment on record. Holly said that a denial, just like a mention in CNN could become a pretext to run the story. So we denied it off record and offered to fax affidavits rebutting the charge on the same basis."

"You got affidavits?"

"I called Puck as soon as Holly got to my apartment and he managed to get to Vicky's place." Quinn answers, knowing that Santana got the hidden message in her answer. Puck's main job is to crush any threats to Santana's election that Quinn couldn't do herself. "Holly's strategy was to convince the legitimate news organizations that charges like that are not credible enough to be aired. It worked today and we're going to do it again should the need arise."

"Damn. Did you guys even sleep?"

"We barely survived your first bimbo eruption Santana." Quinn looks at her best friend, chastising her. "I just hope that it wasn't just a drill for the team."

Santana gulps in response.

/

* * *

"Brit..." Santana gently calls on her very silent and obviously pissed companion. As they entered Santana's 1040 Fifth Avenue apartment (her mother bought the entire seventh floor of the building a few months after Santana's father died, and gave it to Santana when Maribel decided to move back to the family's Southampton house), Brittany continues being quiet, her arms crossed on her chest as she paces the spacious living room, stopping in front of the windows with her back facing Santana. "Brit..." The lawyer breathes out, walking towards Brittany until she's hugging her from behind. "Talk to me, honey."

"Oh, so now you want to talk." Brittany huffs as she tries to squirm out of Santana's embrace. Her efforts prove to be futile though as Santana only tightens her hold.

"Honey, I'm really, really sorry. I've been terribly swamped with a lot of campaign stuff."

"Santana." Brittany roughly removes Santana's arms around her before facing the shorter woman. "When you asked me to be your girlfriend, it was under the impression that I'll be seeing you without having to book an appointment with your secretary." She gazes at Santana, her eyes not betraying that look of hurt and disappointment. "That I could talk to you over the phone without you saying that you have to go and talk to someone else thirty seconds into our conversation."

"Brit..." Santana, still undeterred, moves to close the gap between her and Brittany. She grabs both of Brittany's hands into hers, squeezing them tight so she'll feel how sincerely apologetic she is. "I promise that won't happen again. It's just that...this is our first foray into a political campaign and we're still trying to find the right balance between our campaign work and our personal lives. But we've made progress and I can assure you that I'll be better. Please don't be mad at me anymore." Santana pleads, making sure that Brittany sees just how sorry she is.

With a sigh, Brittany tries to look everywhere but Santana. Her friends have warned her about this—Santana's ability to sweet talk just about anybody. She always meets someone who's friends with someone who's friends with someone who has a story to tell about Santana and women or Santana and her ability to say the right things at the right time—without necessary having the conscious effort to ascertain whether what she's saying is the truth.

But _she's _here. With her. Santana asked her to be her girlfriend.

And that accounts for something, right?

"I don't know, Santana. How about that woman with you outside your apartment building? I mean, what are _you_ doing?" Brittany asks heatedly, her jaw clenches as she grits her teeth. She hasn't seen Santana for almost a week—six days to be exact—and everytime she called her, she either won't pick up or if she did, the call would only last for a few seconds. When she went to Santana's headquarters, Brittany was confused to see that it was almost deserted, save for a number of staffers who worked the phones. When she asked Santana's secretary where her boss was, the old woman merely looked at her and informed her that Santana Lopez was out and wouldn't be coming back to the headquarters for the day. '_Would you like to book an appointment to see her?', _was all the woman said once she realized that Brittany wouldn't leave right away. "And your secretary? You haven't told her about me?" Brittany's eyes widen in disbelief. "Have you even told anybody about me? Or is it just the two of us who know that we're together?" The dancer asks, very upset. She hasn't seen Santana for days, and when she did, it was on the entertainment news, talking to a woman outside her apartment in a way the reporters observed as 'flirty'.

"Okay, first..." Santana pins Brittany against the glass window so she has no other choice but to look at her. "that woman was not someone I know personally. She just came up to me while I was on my way to my apartment. She just stopped me to tell me that she'll be voting for me. The conversation lasted less than a minute, hon. The reporters just sensationalized something so trivial. And second—" Santana's hand caresses Brittany's pale jaw, urging her girlfriend to hold her gaze, "and second, the people who matter know about us. My family, Quinn and my closest friends. I couldn't go around telling everybody about you. Not because I don't want to, because I so fucking want to. But I haven't, because we haven't talked about it yet. You're in a tough position, honey. Especially with the ongoing campaign. My adversaries will target you, and I want to ask you first if you're ready for that. For the public scrutiny. I want to know first if you're ready for that."

"Is that really the only reason?"

"Of course." Santana answers confidently. "It's going to be pretty messy. The campaign, that is. I wan to know first if you're ready for that."

"Well when I said yes to being your girlfriend, it goes without saying that I'm ready for _you. _All of you."

"Yeah?"

"Of course!" Brittany huffs in frustration.

"You're ready to be the subject of jokes? You're ready for the media to dig a little deeper into your life? Your parents? Your family?" Santana looks at her intensely. "Are you ready for your transcript of records to be leaked to the public? Just tell me if you're ready because I'm more than willing to shout to the whole world that we're together."

"Why would they do that? I'm not somebody famous!"

"The last time I went on a date? My date's police records have been made public by TMZ. We weren't even together. It's both my blessing and my curse. Anybody I come in contact with, people seem to have that _need _to know why I'm with that person. And they go further than they need to." Santana sighs, moving away before it's her turn to pace around the room. "But I've been prepared for all the media attention all my life. Almost 28 years Brit, that's... that's how long I've been trained on how to handle all the public scrutiny. So really, I've got nothing to lose. You, on the other hand, are a different story."

"I didn't think of it that way..." Brittany bites her bottom lip.

"You shouldn't have to think about it in the first place." Santana smiles bitterly. "But sadly, there are lots of assholes in this place."

"I've got nothing to hide, really." Brittany mutters, her head trying to recount anything she did in the past that would embarrass her, her family and Santana. "Well, except for my high school grades," Brittany's eyes widen, and her face reddens at the thought. "Oh my god!"

"Brit," Santana chuckles as she leads Brittany towards her kitchen, "it's okay. When Quinn learned that we're dating, she immediately went to work and had all your records sealed—your school records, police records—everything that only you _should _be decide when to release, or whom to release them to."

"You've seen my records?" Brittany asks, mortified. She wasn't a very bright student. Her grades were horrendous, especially her high school ones—so horrendous that she almost almost didn't graduate. It's definitely not something that she's proud of, and what's worse, Santana and her have only been together for less than a month and it's not something that she's ready for Santana to find out. At least _not yet. _Now, her longtime crush and 28-day girlfriend has probably seen her grades and right now, she just wants to disappear.

"Not really." Santana answers, cocking her head to the side. "I know your records are personal. And Quinn knows it too. So she ordered them to be sealed. Only you can see, or release them. Why? Have you been arrested for DUI?" Santana teases, trying to distract Brittany who is obviously uncomfortable with the subject. Of course, Santana wouldn't admit to actually seeing all of Brittany's records even if you point a gun to her head. Brittany had no police records, but boy, had Santana seen her transcript—a document that would make her mother suffer from a heart attack should she see it.

"What?! No." Brittany says with an eye roll.

"How about this," Santana mutters as she gently pushes Brittany down on the dining chair. "you take some time to think about it. Talk to your parents, your closest friends. I don't know, maybe tell them what _could _go down in the coming months? Just prepare them. But be assured that we'll do everything we can so those assholes would leave you alone."

"I need a few days to think about it." Brittany says, still reeling from the information.

"Of course." Santana smiles at her charmingly. "For now, how about I make it up to you? I'm so sorry for being absent, hon." She whispers in Brittany's ears, her hands rubbing smooth circles on the dancer's shoulders. Really, how could Brittany say no?

"Hmm." Brittany hums, starting to feel relaxed. "And how would you do that?"

"How about I cook for you?"

"You know how to cook?" Brittany's head snaps up swiftly, taken aback by the information.

"Oh I know how to do a lot of things." Santana smirks. "So how about you sit back, relax and wait for _moi _to feed you the best damn baked ziti you will ever taste." With a wink and a kiss, Brittany's a goner.

/

In her sleep later that night, Brittany's awoken by the sudden noise from beside her. She starts hearing a raspy voice, controlled and low at first, but Brittany jolts wide awake as soon as she realizes that it's Santana. She internally groans, her eyes finding the digital clock on the bedside table.

_2:17 a.m._

"Those sons of bitches! They told us they have every hole plugged in counties within NYC!" Santana's face contorts in anger. "I need you to count up how many votes we have if we take all of the counties we've plotted last week plus New York City. I need it first thing in the morning." Santana waits for her campaign manager to respond, her face not betraying the feeling of frustration.

On the other end of the line, Quinn Fabray is making her own calculation in her head when a realization dawns on her. "Shit, Santana. You're not thinking of nominating Berry as your Lieutenant, are you?" Her voice rises in panic. "Santana, you can't do that!"

"Quinn! Just give me the information that I need and we'll talk about it in my office."

"But—"

"Just do that!" Santana growls and Brittany takes this as her cue to step in. Moving to calm Santana down, she rubs the lawyer's back, feeling the tension leave Santana's body as she continues the motion.

"Go back to sleep." She whispers, still rubbing Santana's back. "Talk to her later." She mumbles, knowing that the fatigue Santana's having won't do her any good with her conversation with Quinn. Brittany watches as Santana takes deep breathes, before she smiles at the dancer.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." Santana whispers back. "Go back to sleep, I'm done in a few seconds." She says before turning her attention back to Quinn. "Hmm. Yeah, I woke Brittany up. Let's talk in the morning. Thanks Q. Bye." Santana says before hanging up, scrambling to go back to bed.

"What was that?"

"Just some problem with the calculations." Santana huffs, pulling Brittany arm and settling it on her hips so they're even closer to each other. Santana thinks that she'll need Brittany in the coming months more than ever. Her touch seems to have a calming effect on her, her voice and simplistic views are making her feel safer and more confident.

"I think you'll win." Brittany mutters nonchalantly. "So don't worry too much. You'll get wrinkles and you'll get old fast. Which would be pretty bad, because your youth appeals so much to the younger voters."

Santana chuckles, hugging Brittany and peppering the taller woman's face with playful kisses. "You really think I'll win? Because the poll says the race is frighteningly close."

"Sure. But you'll still win."

"Really?"

"Duh."

/

* * *

"Are you out of your mind?!" Kitty, Santana's policy adviser yells, as Holly and Quinn are standing at the corner of the room, yelling at each other. "You can't have Berry as your running mate! She mocks most of your plans and has been attacking a number of your issues despite being in the same party as yours!"

"Wow, would you look at all of you." Santana chuckles, propping her feet on her desk and putting the cigar in her mouth. The scene in front of her amuses her to no end. Her three main '_people_', who the press calls '_Lopez' women_' have been shouting at her for the last half an hour yet she remains unaffected. Santana loves hearing Quinn, Holly and Kitty (who she personally call 'Blonde 1, 2 and 3 respectively—in order of their importance to her) bicker if only for the reason that it's entertaining to watch. But this time, Blonde 1, 2 and 3 are ganging up on her which is in itself, pretty fucking _more _entertaining. "Look at the goddamn numbers! We fucking need NYC if you want me to win. And only Berry can make it work. She will never endorse me without me offering anything to her. And believe me when I say that she won't be accepting anything except that Lieutenant governorship post."

"Santana, there are other ways—"

"Oh really?" Santana cuts off Kitty.

"There is! We just need to get Sylvester to endorse you. She's still the most popular mayor of NYC to date. People are still hanging on to her every word and she's a reminder of a time when NYC in its 'golden years'." Holly explains, hoping that Santana would heed her advice. "And she likes you, Santana. Remember the interviews she gave praising you for your nomination speech barely a year ago?"

"I won't make any deals with that she-devil!" Santana finally has had enough of her advisers' words. There's just no way, _no way, _that Santana Lopez would beg for Sue Sylvester's endorsement. She hates Sylvester's guts and just the sight of her makes Santana hurl.

"Just give it a chance, Santana." Quinn interjects. "You don't need to beg. If she doesn't want to, then fine."

Santana pulls her feet away from her desk and slowly turns her chair until its back is facing Blonde 1, 2 and 3. For their part Quinn, Holly and Kitty realize what Santana's doing so they step back, allowing Santana to collect her thoughts.

Months ago, when Santana would call the three of them to discuss something, the blondes all thought that Santana's playbook includes pitting them against each other. But as the time passed, they came to realize that Santana just loves listening to their thoughts. Santana just needed them to give her the 'best and most reliable information' about a certain issue, not push her to follow their advice. She wouldn't need them to make the decision, because as they experienced, Santana would make the decision on her own after hearing what they have to share, leaving the three of them unsatisfied and frustrated to a certain extent.

They wait with baited breath for Santana to turn around, and when she does, they're all looking at her expectantly.

"I'm 80% convinced that Berry is a risk that I should take. I think it will pay off in the future. But I will talk to Sylvester. _And..._" she narrows her eyes at Holly, "and there won't be any deals."

"Well, maybe you could offer to name a library or—"

"No deals, Holly. And that's it."

"Okay. That sounds reasonable."

"And I will only be there for an hour. Max."

"Well you see, Santana..." Holly smiles at the lawyer exaggeratedly. "She now stays in her vacation house in Colorado and would only come to New York once a month."

"Colorado?! What the fuck is she doing there?" Santana frowns in frustration.

"She's old. She decided to retreat to her house there because it's peaceful." Holly shrugs.

"How long's the flight?"

"Almost 4 hours—"

"Dammit!" Santana brings her cigar to her mouth again, brows furrowed in anger.

/

* * *

Puck watches his boss—who became his good friend as years passed by—as she paces around her hotel room, mouthing expletives that could rival a sailor. The 'meeting' with Sylvester was a bust.

If you could call it a meeting.

The group—which is consisted of Santana, Puck (Santana's regular road companion who's also in-charge of her security; he also doubles as the team's muscle—harassing the people who need to be harassed, making threats, and one of the hardest jobs in the world: physically cleaning up after Santana when Quinn couldn't), and two other members of the security detail—arrived in Colorado at 11 in the morning, hoping to talk to Sylvester over lunch after the ex-mayor confirmed that she'll be at her house to welcome Santana.

Except they arrived to an almost empty house. Aria, Sylvester's assistant was there to inform them that Sue had been invited to play golf at the Colorado Golf Club and won't be home until the next day.

"Puck!" Puck internally winces at the sound of that voice. "Find me a broad."

Taken aback, Puck had to clarify, "Come again?"

"I said I need a broad. Now. My back hurts and my head's starting to pound and I need to calm my nerves because if I don't, I'm going to snap Sylvester's neck the moment I see her!"

"But San..." Puck gulps at the request (or order, depending on who you ask). "Quinn will kill me—"

"Who's gonna tell her?" Santana glares at him and Puck knows that she's close to blowing up. "Definitely not me!"

"But—"

"Please Puck. I need it." Santana looks like she's in too much pain that Puck gazes away. "Either that or you give me a shot for my back."

"I don't have that!" Puck yells back in frustration.

"Exactly." Santana whispers.

With a strained voice, Puck starts to head for the door. "Blonde?" He asks, his back facing Santana as he hold on to the door knob.

"No!" Santana yells in panic.

"Fine. But this is the last time you're doing this." He states, more of pleading. They look at each other for a few seconds, only to have Santana break the staring contest.

"I'll be in the bathroom. Lock the door and say the word when you get back."

Puck could only nod in defeat.

/

* * *

**All mistakes are mine! I'm working on the next chapter of It's Always Been You (it will have an Epilogue)**

**Let me know what you think!**


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